Sons and Daughters
by Hawki
Summary: MCU Oneshot: Who was best suited to inherit one's legacy? The one who shared bond, or the one who shared blood? And what happened when blood and bond clashed?


**Sons and Daughters**

It was almost unfair, Peter reflected.

Fifteen years since he'd been given control of E.D.I.T.H. Fifteen years since his identity was nearly outed to the world. Fifteen years of still living the good life, of not having to worry about anything outside New York. Of swinging from building to building, doing everything from catching bad guys, to helping old ladies walk the street, to fighting all manner of sinister folk. From guys made of sand, to octopodi, and everything in-between, he had it all. Made all the easier in that he had a weapons-grade satellite at his beck and call, capable of everything from surveillance to pinpoint missile strikes. So while he didn't use the latter much these days (the last time he'd done so was on Rhino, and the bastard had still managed to stagger a few feet before collapsing), the former was most useful. For instance, looking through his hood's HUD, he knew that the bunch of criminals in the ArmaGuard van were turning east onto Olympic Avenue. So even if it was out of sight, he was quite capable of launching himself off the top of the building, swinging down, and following the truck, even without seeing it.

_Yep, _Peter thought to himself. _Unfair._

He kind of missed it. The old days, where all he had was a hoodie and a pair of web-shooters. He even missed having to wear dorky glasses before he'd incorporated the lenses into his suit.

"Peter?"

And at times, he actually missed being single. Regardless, he divided up the HUD – one half remained focused on plotting out the route to the van, the other half showed a real-time feed of the interior of his apartment. Most specifically, the person within it.

"Peter!"

"I'm here, I'm here!" he yelled, as he continued to swing.

"Um, no smart arse you're not here. If you were here, I wouldn't have to call you about not being here."

Peter winced, and not just because of the pidgeon he nearly collided into. "Kind of in the middle of something here M.J."

"Yeah, I get that Tiger, just hurry up with it." Off camera, someone began to cry. "I'm coming!" she yelled.

Peter smirked. "Trouble in paradise?" He swung round onto Olympic, while E.D.I.T.H. informed him that the van was now turning onto Fifth.

"Oh yeah, very funny." The crying continued and Peter saw his wife wince. "Look, just hurry up will you? The whole touchy-feely stuff isn't my thing." The crying continued. "I said I'm coming!"

"You changed her diaper?" Peter asked.

"No, that's your job."

"No, my job is to-"

"Coming!" M.J. yelled. She disappeared off camera for a moment before popping her head back in. "Just, get some diapers on the way home, okay?"

"Oh yeah, sure, just pop in with my suit and ask for-"

"Great, thanks for the help." She blew him a kiss and the feed terminated.

_Yeah. Great. Diapers. Just walk in and ask for diapers. _He extended some more web, and finally had eyes on the van. _Like, sure, not like I have anything better to do M.J. Nup. _He extended yet another piece of web. _Hey, when we-_

When he got hit, he was hit hard.

So busy as he was thinking about diapers, his spider sense had failed to pick up the incoming projectile that slammed into him, carrying him up to the top of another building. He yelled, he struggled, but the assailant's too tight. His first question was why his spider sense had let him down. His second question was what the heck had just grabbed him. His third was whether he was going to need some diapers himself. Because when the thing threw him down to the top of the building with enough force to make a dent in it…right now, it was coming back. The hard fights. The life-threatening fights. The fights with scorpions, and goblins, and symbiotes.

_Okay buddy, let's dance._

Peter shot some web projectiles at the object. Using its thrusters, his foe dodged them easily before extending its arm and firing out a laser. Peter flipped back, getting enough distance between himself and his assailant. To finally get a proper look at it.

_Mister Stark?_

No. It wasn't him. It would never be Tony Stark, no matter how many times he dipped into B.A.R.F. software to get fatherly advice. But nevertheless, fifteen years after the man's death, Peter couldn't help but look at this flying iron suit and be reminded of him. Even if the suit was painted red and black, with shining purple eyes. Even if the suit was smaller than the one Tony had worn. Even if, when it spoke, it used a voice modulator, hiding the tone of their voice.

"Spider-Man," it said. "Or Peter Parker, I suppose."

"Listen pal, you can't believe everything you read online. That poor kid went through enough when everyone thought he was me."

"Let's drop the pretence," the suit said. "You have something I want. Give it to me, and the pidgeons won't be laying droppings on your body." A micro-missile extended from its gauntlet.

_Yeah, how about no? _Peter thought. He drew up his HUD. "E.D.I.T.H.? Got a buzzing little bee here, think I need a wasp or two to take it out."

There was no answer.

"E.D.I.T.H.?" He tapped his hood. "Hello?"

"Technical problems, Mister Parker?' It descended to the top of the building, lowering its arm and with it, the micro-missile. "Imagine that. Without a woman in your head, you're just a scared little boy."

"Yeah? And how many women have been into you?"

The figure yelled something that began with "b." He couldn't quite make it out as the suit charged at him.

_Okay Peter tingle, don't fail me now._

He let the tingle do its tingling and amplify his sixth sense. The suit let out a series of punches, but as fast as it was, Peter was faster. He couldn't say it was easy to dodge its blows, but it was manageable.

"E.D.I.T.H., where are you?"

The suit punched him in the gut, before kicking him across the building. The micro-missile reared its ugly head again.

_Oh hell._

The suit fired. Peter flipped up, dodging the missile. In less than a breath, he fired both his web shooters into the suit, and pulled himself into it, doing a double kick.

"E.D.I.T.H.!"

There was still no answer, and the suit rose back to its feet. Peter adjusted his stance, and the two began to circle one another. Peter, with his fingers on his web-shooters, the suit with a single palm pointed outward. No micro-missile this time, but if this bastard had emulated Mister Stark's tech, then there was a strong chance that repulsors had been included in the deal.

"What did you do?" Peter asked.

The suit brought up its right arm in a pose – on it, Peter could see a holographic interface, shining in orange light. "Jamming," it said.

"Jamming."

"Jamming," it repeated.

"No, I said jamming. Usually at this point the villain-"

"Well, I'm not a villain," the suit said. "I just want what's mine."

Peter relaxed his pose a little. "Excuse me?"

"I want E.D.I.T.H.," it said. "Give it to me, and I'll forgive you."

"Yeah pal, this isn't how it works," Peter said. "Y'see, it's the bad guys who ask for forgiveness, and I sometimes give it to them, only-"

The suit fired a repulsor blast. Peter ducked under it. He didn't dodge the suit's punch.

"Give it to me!"

Peter kicked it back and flipped back up.

"I said give it to me!" The suit threw a series of punches, but Peter dodged them. But not the headbutt. Not the kick to his stomach that sent him flying across the rooftop.

"Give E.D.I.T.H. back."

Peter used his webs against one of the statues on top of the building.

"Give it back, and-"

He ripped it out, and like a giant morning star, sent it smashing against the suit, staggering it. He lept forward, pinning it. Pummelling it over and over.

He didn't say anything as he did so. He let his fists do the talking. He let them say that the suit was a thief and a liar – Tony Stark had given E.D.I.T.H. to him. He'd not always used her appropriately, but that had been fifteen years ago. Fifteen years of following the legacy Iron Man had left the world. And besides, he'd given E.D.I.T.H. away once, and that had nearly cost him his reputation, his life, and the lives of hundreds, including his classmates. If the suit thought it was owed anything, if it thought it could steal Mister Stark's legacy, it had another thing coming. So at last, with a final yell, he brought both his fists down against the suit's mask, cracking it.

"That's giving it back," Peter wheezed – he was more exhausted than he hoped he was letting on. He was 32 years old, and while faster, stronger, and heck, smarter than most people on this planet, age had taken its toll. Still, he had enough strength to put his fingers around the suit's mask and begin to pry it off.

_So, are you going to be regular ugly, ugly-ugly, or sociopathic pretty? _Peter grimaced as he continued the work. In his experience, bad guys didn't just act like bad guys, they looked it as well. And that was before they turned into red, symbiote-clad psychopaths.

_And here…we…go. _He got the mask off and stared.

For starters, it was a girl, and right now, in the realm of (possibly sociopathic) pretty. Judging by her face, she was somewhere in her late teens however, so he quickly stopped thinking about her looks. Her black hair was bound up behind her neck. Her eyes were closed, still unconscious from the pummelling he'd given her.

_Have I seen you before? _He leant in closer. He certainly hadn't ever been accosted by an Iron Man before, let alone an Iron Woman, but that said…

Her eyes flicked open. "Hello Peter."

_Oh shit._

She'd been faking it. And he paid the price as a beam of white-light extended from her right gauntlet. He tried to jump back, but yelled as the blade cut through his suit and the side of his chest. No blood hit the roof of the building, but the smell of burning flesh filled the air.

_Not good. _Struggling to get up, struggling to breathe, Peter got to his feet. The Iron Lady charged into him, hitting him with enough force to make Margaret Thatcher blush. _Not good!_

He tried to defend himself. But the girl's fists came hard, and they came fast. All it took was for one of them to hit his face, and after that, he couldn't do anything. The fists kept coming. Again, and again, and again. Until, as he blinked through blackened eyes, as blood poured out from a broken nose, he felt the girl take him by the scruff of his neck.

"Take it easy," she whispered. "Just need to do a little maintenance."

Peter tried to say something, but nothing more than a whisper came out. The woman reached for the eyes – not so much his eyes themselves, thank God, but rather the fibre-optics superimposed on his mask.

"I could jam her," the girl said. She got to her feet to retrieve her helmet. "But I needed a physical interface to get control of E.D.I.T.H." She snorted. "Even dead, I'm the hero. So typical of him."

Peter struggled to his feet and tore off his mask – not something he usually did with a villain, but if the woman in front of him knew his identity, then there was little to be lost right now. Besides, with the optics removed, the rest of his mask's eye-slits had been screwed up. She gave him a smirk.

"Been so long since I last saw you," she said. "Think it was at the funeral? Neither of us said much then."

"Funeral?" He'd been to so many funerals over the years…Peter Connors…George Stacey…his aunt…but he hadn't seen her at any of them.

"Don't remember me?" she whispered. Light extended from her finger-tips, as she welded the optics into her helmet. "Figures." She put it back on. "Oh. Oh yes. Yes, that's it."

Peter sprung at her, but using her thrusters, she dodged him, and in mid-air, let loose a pulse that sent him sprawling.

"You're getting old," she said. She walked over, raising her helmet's visor to reveal her face. She knelt down as Peter tried to get up. "Fifteen years," she whispered. "Fifteen years, and this is all you have to show for it. Tony Stark gives a defence system to a child, treats him like his own son, and leaves his real family out in the cold."

"You…don't know anything about him."

"Don't I?" she whispered. "I mean, I am his daughter."

Peter's eyes grew wide. Her face, her hair, her eyes…he hadn't seen it before, but looking at her now…

"Morgan?" he whispered.

She punched him and before he could even register the pain, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Blood was still pouring out of his nose, and his forehead too was bleeding. Morgan, for her part, looked ready to shed a whole lot more.

"You have no idea how much I'd love to send you off to see dear daddy," she whispered. "I know what happened. You had the gauntlet. It could have been you. It should have been you."

"Morgan-"

"You could have snapped your fingers and my father would still be alive!" She pulled Peter in even closer. "He gave her to you. You – a kid who lets his own uncle die to latch onto the first father figure that comes his way. And he…" She paused. "He gives you a toy, and leaves his daughter nothing."

"You were four," Peter whispered.

"And you were fifteen," she said. "I'm older than you when you got this toy, so…" She let him go, walking back, putting both her fingers to her helmet. "Now she's mine. As she always should have been. And let me tell you…it's awesome to the power of three-thousand."

Peter began to get to his feet. "You're not getting away with that."

"Actually, I am. I have. Whole world spent their time wondering what Iron Man's daughter was going to do? Well, this is it. They want me to change the world? I'm going to."

Peter began walking towards her.

"And you're going to let that happen," she said. "Otherwise, your family on nine-twenty Baker Street is going to having an appointment with a space-to-surface missile."

Peter froze – a chill ran down his spine, and it wasn't just the way that Morgan was looking at him.

"Yes," she said. "I know. There's nowhere you, your wife, or daughter can hide. So keep quiet, and not only do you get to keep your secret identity, but little May Parker doesn't have a…mayday, incident." She shrugged. "Of course, if I did send a drone or missile to see her, doubt she'd have long enough to scream anything."

"You're insane," Peter whispered.

"And so was my father – only difference between insanity and genius is the level of success." She took a step towards Peter. "But let's cut the pretence. I'm his daughter. You're not his son. And this is my legacy, not yours." Her visor lowered, and the glowing eyes flashed at him. "Just stay in the neighbourhood Mister Parker. The world outside it is going to get the hero it deserves."

"It already had one," Peter murmured.

"It did. And it was never you."

With that, she shot up into the sky. Leaving behind Peter Parker. Spider-Man. Complete with broken body, broken spirit, and a tattered mask.

Just standing there, under a sword of Damocles.


End file.
